IN DEPTH: Nearly 1 year after deadly attack on U.S. diplomatic mission in Libya, a new book goes inside the compound to tell the riveting story

(FILES) This file photo taken on September 11, 2012 shows an armed man waving his rifle as buildings and cars are engulfed in flames after being set on fire inside the US consulate compound in Benghazi.
— STR/AFP/Getty Images

(FILES) This file photo taken on September 11, 2012 shows an armed man waving his rifle as buildings and cars are engulfed in flames after being set on fire inside the US consulate compound in Benghazi.
/ STR/AFP/Getty Images

After the fall of Colonel Qaddafi, in 2011, Libya had become an al-Qaeda-inspired, if not al-Qaeda-led, training base and battleground. In the northeastern city of Benghazi, it was a le Carré urban landscape where loyalties changed sides with every sunset; there were murders, betrayals, and triple-crossing profits to be made in the post-revolution. The police were only as honest as their next bribe.

The Untold Story of the Attack in Benghazi Under Fire by Fred Burton and Samuel Katz

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The Untold Story of the Attack in Benghazi Under Fire by Fred Burton and Samuel Katz

Most governments were eager to abandon the danger and intrigue of Benghazi. But Libya was a target-rich environment for American political, economic and military interests, and the United States was determined to retain its diplomatic and intelligence presence in the country — including an embassy in Tripoli and a mission in Benghazi.

The United States no longer had the resources or the national will to commit massive military manpower to its outposts in remnants of what was once defined as the New World Order. The footprint of the United States in this unsettled country and its ever important but dangerous second city would have to be small and agile.

In 1984, Secretary of State George P. Shultz ordered the convening of an Advisory Panel on Overseas Security to respond to critical threats to American diplomats and diplomatic facilities encountered around the world. The panel was chaired by retired Adm. Bobby Ray Inman, a former deputy director of the Central Intelligence Agency. One of the primary findings of what would become known as the Inman Report was the need for an expanded security force to protect American diplomatic posts overseas, and on Aug. 27, 1986, a new State Department security force and law-enforcement agency, the Diplomatic Security Service, an arm of the Bureau of Diplomatic Security (DS), was formed.

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Another important result from the report was a focus on physical-security enhancements for embassies and consulates. These new embassies, known as Inman buildings, incorporated anti-ram walls and fences, gates, vehicle barriers, ballistic window film, and coordinated local guard forces to create fortresses that could withstand massive explosions and coordinated attempts to breach their defenses.

For over a decade following the 9/11 attacks, DS managed to contain the fundamentalist fervor intent on inflicting catastrophic damage on America’s diplomatic interests. But the wave of civilian unrest in the Arab Spring of 2011 took the region — and the United States — by surprise. Governments that had been traditional allies and that had sent police officers to anti-terrorism-assistance training were overthrown.

J. Christopher Stevens was the foreign-service officer who made sure that American diplomacy in Libya flourished. Chris, as he was called, was a true Arabist; he was known to sign his name on personal emails as “Krees” to mimic the way Arabs pronounced his name.

When the civil war was over in October 2011, Stevens was an obvious choice to become ambassador, President Barack Obama’s personal representative to the new Libya. Stevens was based in the U.S. Embassy in Tripoli, which had been reopened as the country emerged from the chaos, fury, and joyous hope of the Arab Spring.

Hastily set up mission

FILE - U.S. Ambassador Chris Stevens stands in the lobby of the Tibesty Hotel where an African Union delegation was meeting with opposition leaders in Benghazi, Libya in this April 11, 2011 file photo.(AP Photo/Ben Curtis, File)

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FILE - U.S. Ambassador Chris Stevens stands in the lobby of the Tibesty Hotel where an African Union delegation was meeting with opposition leaders in Benghazi, Libya in this April 11, 2011 file photo.(AP Photo/Ben Curtis, File)

The U.S. Special Mission in Benghazi, an ad hoc consulate not meeting all of the Inman security requirements, had been hastily set up amid the Libyan civil war. “Expeditionary Diplomacy” dictated that DS do the best it could without the protections afforded official consulates.

About a mile away was the Annex, a not-so-secret satellite CIA station. A thick wall surrounded the complex, which was staffed by analysts, communications specialists, linguists, researchers, case officers, and 10 members of the agency’s Global Response Staff, or GRS.

The CIA hired the best of the best to serve in the 125-man global force. Virtually all the operators were retired members of the most covert elements of the U.S. special operations community. Many were from the Navy SEALs or Special Forces.

The GRS personnel, together with a Benghazi militia called the February 17 Martyrs Brigade, constituted what was classified as a quick reaction force, or QRF, to assist the Special Mission in time of need.

Ex-Navy SEALs Glen Doherty (L) and Tyrone Woods (R) were killed when the U.S. diplomatic compound in Benghazi, Libya, was attacked.

Ex-Navy SEALs Glen Doherty (L) and Tyrone Woods (R) were killed when the U.S. diplomatic compound in Benghazi, Libya, was attacked.

One of the operators was former SEAL Tyrone “Ty” Woods. West Coast handsome, Woods wore the Trident for nearly 20 years and served multiple tours of duty in Somalia, Iraq and Afghanistan. In 2010, he took on the contract of serving as a GRS operator. He traveled to various points in South America, the Middle East and Africa to support CIA operations.

The CIA, reportedly, also had a sizable GRS element at the Tripoli embassy. These men, like those in Benghazi, were experienced professionals whose dedication to mission was unrivaled. One of them was Glen Doherty. Blessed with an inherent sense of success, Doherty served two tours in Iraq.

He left the SEALs in 2005 and entered military contracting, working for the U.S. intelligence community around the world, including Afghanistan, Pakistan and Yemen.

On the 11th anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks, five DS agents found themselves in Benghazi protecting the Special Mission Compound and Ambassador Stevens, who planned to be in the city for a week. Inexperienced yet willing to do what they were told and to work the worst shifts, they were the nuts and bolts of the protection backbone. The five men were a mixed bag of overachievers: former street cops, U.S. Marines, a U.S. Army Iraq War veteran, and academics. All had under 10 years on the job; some had less than five.

To protect their identities, the five State Department DS agents will be identified as R., the temporary-duty regional security officer (RSO) who was the senior man among the group; he was on a long-term posting in Libya, borrowed from the RSO’s office in Tripoli. A. and B. were junior agents assigned temporary duty in Benghazi. C. and D. were young agents who constituted Stevens’ ad hoc protective detail, and who had flown with him from Tripoli.

Militants launch attack

The Libyan security guard at the compound’s main gate, Charlie-1, sat inside his booth happily earning his 40 Libyan dinars ($32 U.S.) for the shift. It wasn’t great money, clearly not as much as could be made in the gun markets catering to the Egyptians and Malians hoping to start a revolution with coins in their pockets, but it was a good job in a city where unemployment was plague-like.

At 21:42 hours, there was a rifle-butt knock on the guard-booth glass.

“Iftah el bawwaba, ya sharmout,” the gunman ordered, with his AK-47 pointed straight at the forehead of the Libyan guard at Charlie-1. “Open the gate, you f*!” The guard, working a thankless job that was clearly not worth losing his life over, acquiesced. Once the gate was unhinged from its locking mechanism, armed men appeared out of nowhere. The silence of the night was shattered by the thumping cadence of shoes and leather sandals and the clanking sound of slung AK-47s and RPG-7s banging against the men’s backs.

Once inside, they raced across the compound to open Bravo-1, the northeastern gate, to enable others to stream in. When Bravo-1 was open, four vehicles screeched in front of the Special Mission Compound and unloaded over a dozen fighters. Some of the vehicles were Mitsubishi Pajeros — fast, rugged, and ever so reliable, even when shot at. Other vehicles were Toyota and Nissan pickups, each armed with single- and even quad-barreled 12.7-mm. and 14.5-mm. heavy machine guns.

Each vehicle reportedly flew the black flag of the jihad.

US State department photo of slain US diplomat Sean Smith, killed in Libya along with the US Ambassador

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US State department photo of slain US diplomat Sean Smith, killed in Libya along with the US Ambassador

Information Management Officer Sean Smith was in his room at the residence, online with members of his gaming community, when Charlie-1 was breached. The married father of two children, Smith was the man who had been selected to assist Ambassador Stevens in Benghazi with communications. An always smiling 34-year-old U.S. Air Force veteran and computer buff, he was ideally suited for the sensitive task of communicator. He was online when the enemy was at the gate, chatting with his guild-mates. Then suddenly he typed “F*” and “Gunfire.” The connection ended abruptly.

R. sounded the duck-and-cover alarm the moment he realized, by looking at the camera monitors, that the post had been compromised by hostile forces. Just to reinforce the severity of the situation, he yelled “Attack, attack, attack!” into the P.A. system. From his command post, R. had an almost complete view of the compound thanks to a bank of surveillance cameras discreetly placed throughout. He could see men swarming inside the main gate, and he noticed the Libyan guards and some of the February 17 militia running away as fast as they could. R. immediately alerted the embassy in Tripoli and the QRF in the Annex.

Night of terror

A. was the agent on duty that night who, according to emergency protocols, would be responsible for safeguarding Stevens and Smith. A. rushed into the residence to relieve, or “push,” D., who ran back to the barracks to retrieve his tactical kit. D. was wearing a white T-shirt and his underwear when the alarm sounded. The terrorists had achieved absolute surprise.

The DS agents ran like sprinters toward their stowed weapons and equipment. The sounds of guttural Arabic voices grew, and the odd vicious shot was fired into the September sky. Numerous figures, their silhouettes barely discernible in the shadows, chased the agents from behind, chanting unintelligibly and angrily.

One thing was absolutely certain in the minds of the agents in those early moments: the U.S. ambassador was the ultimate target of the attack. They knew that they had to secure him and get him out of the kill zone.

Libyan military guards check one of the U.S. Consulate’s burnt out buildings during a visit by Libyan President Mohammed el-Megarif, not shown, to the U.S. Consulate to express sympathy for the death of the American ambassador, Chris Stevens and his colleagues in the deadly attack on the Consulate last Tuesday, September 11, in Benghazi, Libya, Friday, Sept. 14, 2012. (AP Photo/Mohammad Hannon)

Libyan military guards check one of the U.S. Consulate’s burnt out buildings during a visit by Libyan President Mohammed el-Megarif, not shown, to the U.S. Consulate to express sympathy for the death of the American ambassador, Chris Stevens and his colleagues in the deadly attack on the Consulate last Tuesday, September 11, in Benghazi, Libya, Friday, Sept. 14, 2012. (AP Photo/Mohammad Hannon)

A. ran up the landing to round up Stevens and Smith and to rush them to the safe haven inside the residence. “Follow me, sir,” A. said in a calming though urgent tone. “We are under attack.”

There was no time to get dressed or to grab personal items; there was no time to power down laptops or even to take them. A. insisted, however, that both Stevens and Smith don the khaki Kevlar body-armor vests that had been pre-positioned in their rooms. It was critical that the three men make it to the safe haven and lock the doors before the attackers knew where they were. A., following the room-clearing tactics he had been taught in his training, carefully turned each corner, his assault rifle poised to engage any threat.

A. heard voices shouting outside the walls; these were interrupted only by the sporadic volleys of automatic gunfire. The lights in the residence were extinguished. The gunfire alerted both Stevens and Smith to the immediacy of the emergency, but negotiating the dark path to the safe haven was made more difficult by the restrictive hug of the heavy vests.

When the three reached the safe haven, the mesh steel door was shut behind them and locked. A. took aim with his rifle through the wrought-iron grate over the window. The door, as well as the window, was supposed to be opened only when the cavalry arrived. When that would happen was anyone’s guess.

Stevens requested A.’s BlackBerry to make calls to nearby consulates and to the embassy in Tripoli. He spoke in hushed tones. His first call was to his deputy chief of mission, Gregory Hicks, who was in Tripoli at the U.S. Embassy. Stevens also called local militia and public-security commanders in Benghazi, pleading for help.

Libyans walk on the grounds of the gutted U.S. consulate in Benghazi, Libya, after an attack that killed four Americans, including Ambassador Chris Stevens, Wednesday, Sept. 12, 2012. Stevens, 52, died as he and a group of embassy employees went to the consulate to try to evacuate staff as a crowd of hundreds attacked the consulate Tuesday evening, many of them firing machine-guns and rocket-propelled grenades.(AP Photo/Ibrahim Alaguri)
— AP

Libyans walk on the grounds of the gutted U.S. consulate in Benghazi, Libya, after an attack that killed four Americans, including Ambassador Chris Stevens, Wednesday, Sept. 12, 2012. Stevens, 52, died as he and a group of embassy employees went to the consulate to try to evacuate staff as a crowd of hundreds attacked the consulate Tuesday evening, many of them firing machine-guns and rocket-propelled grenades.(AP Photo/Ibrahim Alaguri)
/ AP

Hunkering down in the nerve center

C. had initially rushed back to the Tactical Operations Center, but then redirected back to the agents’ quarters to grab his gear and back up D. It was procedure — and tactical prudence — for the remaining agents at the compound to work in teams of two. B. and R. were inside the TOC, locked down behind secured fire doors. The TOC was the security nerve center of the facility. Situated south of the residence, it was a small structure of gray cement with little windows sealed by iron bars.

C. and D. rushed out of the barracks, weapons in hand, hoping to reach the residence on the western side of the compound, but the two young agents found themselves seeking cover. Moving slowly, and peering around corners, the two tried to cross the alleyway that separated the two halves of the Special Mission Compound, but they feared the connecting path would turn into an exposed killing zone.

There were just too many gunmen racing about and screaming to one another. The DS agents realized that they were cut off, so they made their way back to the barracks. Some of the attackers carried rocket-propelled grenades slung over their shoulder, and the DS agents knew that they were facing superior firepower. C. radioed the TOC of their predicament and waited for the chance to attempt a breakout.

A Libyan man walks in the rubble of the damaged U.S. consulate, after an attack that killed four Americans, including Ambassador Chris Stevens on the night of Tuesday, Sept. 11, 2012, in Benghazi, Libya, Thursday, Sept. 13, 2012. (AP photo/Mohammad Hannon)
— AP

A Libyan man walks in the rubble of the damaged U.S. consulate, after an attack that killed four Americans, including Ambassador Chris Stevens on the night of Tuesday, Sept. 11, 2012, in Benghazi, Libya, Thursday, Sept. 13, 2012. (AP photo/Mohammad Hannon)
/ AP

Bad as the situation was, R., the TOC regional-security officer, had things in hand. Stevens was hunkered down, and so were the agents. Everyone just needed to hold tight until the cavalry arrived. The TOC had visual surveillance of the “tangos,” slang for terrorists, and could update the agents.

With pinpoint Military Operations on Urban Terrain tradecraft, the terrorists assaulted the February 17 Martyrs Brigade command post, at the western tip of the northern perimeter, by lobbing a grenade inside and then, before the smoke and debris cleared, firing bursts of AK-47 fire into the main doorway. A number of February 17 Martyrs Brigade militiamen, along with one or two Libyan guards, were seriously wounded in the exchange, though they still managed to use an escape ladder to climb up to the rooftop, where they hid. The command-post floor was awash in blood.

As they watched the attack unfold in real time on the video monitors, R. and B. attempted to count the men racing through the Bravo-1 and Charlie-1 gates. However, the attackers had flowed through the northern part of the grounds so quickly and in such alarming numbers that R. and B. could not ascertain their numbers or armaments. It was only later that the DS discovered there were 35 men systematically attacking the Special Mission Compound.

They were not members of a ragtag force. Split into small groups, which advanced throughout the compound methodically, they employed military-style hand signals to direct their progression toward their objectives. Some were dressed in civil-war chic — camouflage outfits, black balaclavas. Some wore “wifebeater” white undershirts and khaki military trousers. A few wore Inter Milan soccer jerseys — Italian soccer is popular in Libya. Some of those who barked the orders wore mountaintop jihad outfits of the kind worn by Taliban warriors in Afghanistan. Virtually all of the attackers had grown their beards full and long.

According to later reports, foreigners had mixed in with the local contingent of usual suspects. Many were believed to have come from Derna, on the coast between Benghazi and Tobruk. Derna had been the traditional hub of jihadist Islamic endeavors inside Libya and beyond.

It was clear that whoever the men were, they had been given precise orders and impeccable intelligence. They seemed to know when, where, and how to get from the access points to the ambassador’s residence and how to cut off the DS agents as well as the local guard force and the February 17 militiamen.

As is standard procedure, in the days leading up to the arrival of the ambassador, the regional security officer and his team had made a series of official requests to the Libyan government for additional security support for the mission. It appears that the attackers either intercepted these requests or were tipped off by corrupt Libyan officials.

The attackers had seemed to know that there were new, uninstalled generators behind the February 17 Martyrs Brigade command post, nestled between the building and the overhang of foliage from the western wall, as well as half a dozen jerrycans full of gasoline to power them.

One of the commanders dispatched several of his men to retrieve the plastic fuel containers and bring them to the main courtyard.

A gunman opened one of the cans and began to splash the gasoline on the blood-soaked floor of the February 17 command post. The man with the jerry can took great pains to pour the harsh-smelling fuel into every corner of the building before igniting an inferno.

‘I see flames and smoke’

A. watched from between the metal bars inside the safe haven as a fiery clap was followed by bright-yellow flames that engulfed the command post. He updated the TOC with what he could see and, more ominously, what he could smell.

“A. here. I see flames and smoke.”

“Roger that, me too,” said R., in the TOC.

R. keyed the microphone again and said, “Backup en route.”

Thick plumes of acrid gray and black smoke billowed upward to cloud the clear night sky. The Special Mission Compound was painted in an eerie orange glow.

FILE - This Sept. 13, 2012 file photo shows a cameraman filming one of U.S. consulate burnt out offices after an attack that killed four Americans, including Ambassador Chris Stevens on the night of Tuesday, Sept. 11, 2012, in Benghazi, Libya.
— AP

FILE - This Sept. 13, 2012 file photo shows a cameraman filming one of U.S. consulate burnt out offices after an attack that killed four Americans, including Ambassador Chris Stevens on the night of Tuesday, Sept. 11, 2012, in Benghazi, Libya.
/ AP

For added fury, some of the gunmen broke the windshields of several of the February 17 Martyrs Brigade vehicles parked near their command post and doused the interior of the vehicles with gasoline. A lit cigarette, smoked almost to the filter, was tossed in to ignite another blaze.

The survival equation at the Special Mission Compound was growing dim. R. summoned C. and D. over the radio:

In the background, the TOC agent could hear the sound of the angry mob in the hallways, over the agent’s keyed microphone. R. communicated his situation to the CIA Annex, the regional security officer in Tripoli, and the Diplomatic Security Command Center in Virginia, via his cellphone. Well over a dozen terrorists were trying to break through the cantina at the residence.

C. and D. had shut the main door and moved the refrigerator from inside the kitchen and barricaded the door with it. They hunkered down low, with their assault rifles in hand, prepared for the breach and the ballistic showdown. They were trapped. So, too, were R. and B., in the TOC.

A. leaned upward, glancing out through the murky transparency of his window, peering across the bars at the violence before him. He watched as the fuel bearers inched their way forward toward the residence.

In that darkened bunker of the villa’s safe haven, A. faced a life-changing or life-ending decision that few of even the most experienced DS agents have ever had to make: play Rambo and shoot it out or remain unseen and buy time? As retired DS agent Scot Folensbee reflected, “When you are faced with immediate life-and-death decisions, you know that ultimately, if you survive, you will be second-guessed and criticized. So, the only thing to do is realize that in these cases of ‘Should I shoot or not shoot,’ you as the agent are the one making the decision and you the agent will have to live with that decision. There wasn’t a right decision here, and there wasn’t a wrong one, either.”

The Special Mission Compound in Benghazi on that night was not a textbook case. The attackers had managed to cut off and isolate two two-man tandems of armed support, and the local militia, paid to stand and fight, had cut and run. A.’s decision was his and his alone. And he chose to do whatever was humanly feasible to keep Stevens and Smith alive. There was no honor in a suicidal last stand before it was absolutely the time to commit suicide. Every second that the three could hang on was another second of hope that rescue would come.

It was 22:00 hours.

Appetite for destruction

The attackers moved quickly into the villa. The front door had been locked, and it took some effort to get it open. Finally, an RPG was employed to blow a hole through the door.

As they penetrated the villa the attackers were furious and violent, with an animal-like rage.

They sated their appetite for destruction on anything before them, ripping the sofas and cushions to shreds. Bookshelves, lighting fixtures, vases were bashed and crushed. TVs were thrown to the ground and stomped on. The computers left behind, perhaps containing sensitive and possibly even classified information, were simply trashed.

In this Thursday, Sept. 13, 2012 file photo, a Libyan man investigates the inside of the U.S. Consulate after an attack that killed four Americans, including Ambassador Chris Stevens, on the night of Tuesday, Sept. 11, 2012, in Benghazi, Libya.
— Associated Press

In this Thursday, Sept. 13, 2012 file photo, a Libyan man investigates the inside of the U.S. Consulate after an attack that killed four Americans, including Ambassador Chris Stevens, on the night of Tuesday, Sept. 11, 2012, in Benghazi, Libya.
/ Associated Press

All that separated A., Stevens, and Smith from the terrorists was the steel-reinforced security gate, of the kind normally installed inside the apartments of diplomats. It wasn’t a forced-entry-and-blast-resistant door, like the ones used in Inman buildings.

A. knew that unless help arrived soon they were, to use a DS euphemism, “screwed.” Screwed was an understatement. The terrorists would use explosives or an RPG to blast their way into the safe haven; they had, he believed, used one to blast through the doors at the main entrance. But fire was a much cheaper and far simpler solution to a frustrating obstacle.

Burning down an embassy or a diplomatic post was so much easier than blowing it up, and historically, when a diplomatic post’s defenses had been breached, the end result was usually an inferno. As the frenzy of destruction began to simmer down, the roar of fire was loud and ominous. R. radioed A. with the news. “Smoke is seen from the villa’s windows, over.” The message was superfluous. The three men could hear the flames engulfing the building, and they could feel the oven-like heat growing hotter and more unbearable as each moment passed. The lights from behind the door began to flicker. The electricity began to falter, and then it died.

Once the fires began and the gunmen discovered the path to the safe haven, A. moved onto his knees to take aim with his assault rifle in case the attackers made it through this final barrier. The attackers flailed their hands wildly in the attempt to pry the gate open. Stevens, Smith and A. were safely out of view, crouched behind walls.

A. cradled his long gun with his left hand, wiping the sweat from his right. He knew he had to be frugal with his shots. He didn’t know if he had enough rounds to stop 10 men, let alone more.

As A. moved his sights from target to target, the fiery orange glow behind them made the dozen or so men look like a hundred.

Just before the fire was set, the gunmen had emerged from the villa, relaxed and joyous.

They fecklessly fired their AK-47s into the air and watched the villa erupt in a wild blaze. Whoever was inside the doomed building would most certainly die. Their work for the night was nearly done.

The situation inside the safe haven was critical. A. attempted to pry open the window, but in seeking ventilation he exacerbated the situation; the opening created an air gust which fed the intensity of the flames and the smoke.

The safe haven became a gas chamber. A. pleaded with Stevens and Smith to follow him to an adjacent room with an egress emergency window, but he couldn’t see the two through the smoke. He banged on the floor as he crawled, hoping they would hear him. A. found himself in the throes of absolute terror.

Bloodstains at the main gate believed to be from one of the American staff members of the U.S. Consulate, after an attack that killed four Americans, including Ambassador Chris Stevens on the night of Tuesday, Sept. 11, 2012, in Benghazi, Libya, Thursday, Sept. 13, 2012. (AP Photo/Mohammad Hannon)
— AP

Bloodstains at the main gate believed to be from one of the American staff members of the U.S. Consulate, after an attack that killed four Americans, including Ambassador Chris Stevens on the night of Tuesday, Sept. 11, 2012, in Benghazi, Libya, Thursday, Sept. 13, 2012. (AP Photo/Mohammad Hannon)
/ AP

He pushed through toward the window, barely able to breathe. With his voice raw from smoke, he mustered whatever energy he had left to yell and propel Stevens and Smith forward.

The egress window was grilled, and within the grille was a section that could be opened for emergency escape. A. managed to pry the window slightly ajar. He yelled for Stevens and Smith to follow him as he forced his body through the opening.

Coughing up soot, he reached inside to help Stevens and Smith out. There was no response, though; they had not followed him. A. heard the whooshing sound of shots flying overhead. Some of the gunmen, who had by now begun to retreat from the blaze, began firing at him.

A. didn’t care at this point. Showing enormous courage and dedication, he went back into the safe haven several times to search for both men. The heat and the intensity of the fire and smoke beat him back each time.

Later, A. could not remember the number of attempts he had made to search for Stevens and Smith. His hands were severely burned, and the smoke inhalation had battered his body to the point where even minor movements caused excruciating pain.

Still, he resolved to get the two men out of the inferno, dead or alive. But at approximately his sixth attempt to go back inside, A. found he couldn’t go back anymore. His body had been humbled by the hellacious reality. Stoically he gathered himself and made toward an emergency ladder near the egress window. He climbed to the roof as the flames rushed upward from the windows that had exploded. While rounds were flying by him, he tried to pull off a metal grate over a skylight on the top of the roof. The building resembled a funeral pyre.

Atop the building, A. struggled his way toward the wedge-shaped sandbag firing emplacement that the DS operators had affixed the last time they had been to Benghazi.

The sandbags shielded A. from the odd shots still ringing out in the night; greenish beams of tracer fire littered the roofline, as the gunmen still hoped to have a chance to engage some of the Americans in a battle to the end.

As pillars of fire and smoke surged up, the collapse of the weakened roof seemed imminent. Struggling with every breath he took, he pressed down on the talk button of his Motorola handset. “I don’t have the ambassador,” he yelled.

The CIA’s outpost

The CIA never seemed to think through the geopolitical ramifications of its Benghazi outpost being discovered.

Apparently, the agency believed that the local GRS contingent could defend the position against most threats. Yet even the formidable veteran special operators could not withstand a siege by an overwhelming force of militants for very long.

As scores of armed terrorists rushed to the Annex after the attack on the Special Mission Compound, the GRS operators wondered if the CIA post was the ultimate target.

With the help of a GRS rescue team, the five DS agents had managed to get to the safety of the Annex after recovering the body of Sean Smith. Stevens’ body would be discovered by looters who pillaged the compound after the fires cooled.

The scene at the Annex resembled what nighttime must have been like at an isolated American outpost somewhere in Vietnam. Heavy bursts of machine gun fire were sprayed above the walls. Explosions rocked the outer walls, and shrapnel and debris showered the grounds.

A burnt car in front of U.S. consulate, after an attack that killed four Americans, including Ambassador Chris Stevens on the night of Tuesday, in Benghazi, Libya, Thursday, Sept. 13, 2012. (AP Photo/Mohammad Hannon)
— AP

A burnt car in front of U.S. consulate, after an attack that killed four Americans, including Ambassador Chris Stevens on the night of Tuesday, in Benghazi, Libya, Thursday, Sept. 13, 2012. (AP Photo/Mohammad Hannon)
/ AP

Reinforcements were en route from Tripoli, but this was Libya: a one-hour flight and a 10-minute ride from the airport could be a journey that lasted a day or more.

Seventy minutes, as was witnessed at the Special Mission Compound, was, simply stated, “a very long time.” The night was full of doubt and threat. The events were quickly spiraling out of control and out of reason. The Annex was on its own.

And then, just as quickly as it began, the terrorist gunfire ceased. The respite was welcome, of course. The quiet gave the shooters a chance to reload and the intelligence folk time to prepare for being overrun. It also bought time for the reinforcements to arrive.

Reinforcements arrive

At 04:30 hours, three hours of intensive negotiations had brought an end to a stalemate at the Benghazi airport that had stalled the arrival of Glen Doherty and the other GRS operators from Tripoli. It is unknown how many crisp new Benjamin Franklins were promised in order to re-engage the services of the February 17 Brigade. The amount transferred to the militia is unknown, but the group assembled a formidable force to escort the seven men and their equipment to the Annex.

Almost immediately after they arrived, a brief crackle of automatic weapons fire was heard approximately 100 meters away.

Tyrone Woods, according to one of the CIA staffers at the Annex, rolled his eyes in frustration over the audacity of the terrorists and said, “I am going to rain down hate among them.”

Woods, along with the rest of the GRS team and the Tripoli operators, ran toward his defensive position. The DS agents rushed to assist.

The two former SEALs Doherty and Woods were relieved to see each other in the wrong place at the wrong time. Doherty reportedly looked at Woods and said, “Let’s go, two is one, one is none.”

The two men climbed a ladder to the roof and prepared for battle.

Terrorist fire was coming in from all directions. The Annex’s defenders responded in kind. The 10-man GRS contingent, the five DS agents, and the seven men from Tripoli gave as good as they got from their rooftop positions, unleashing walls of fire at targets they could identify from the muzzle flashes of the terrorist weapons being fired.

The terrorists moved fluidly and proficiently from cover to cover in their assault; there were no doubts in the minds of the post’s defenders that these men had had advanced military training and extensive combat experience. The attackers were not a ragtag assembly of militants looking to throw a few rounds down range. Their advance and assault were methodical.

The chief of base once again relayed back to the chief of station in Tripoli that they were under fire when the mortar barrage began.

Glass, debris and overturned furniture are strewn inside a room in the gutted U.S. consulate in Benghazi, Libya, after an attack that killed four Americans, including Ambassador Chris Stevens, Wednesday, Sept. 12, 2012. (AP Photo/Ibrahim Alaguri)
— AP

Glass, debris and overturned furniture are strewn inside a room in the gutted U.S. consulate in Benghazi, Libya, after an attack that killed four Americans, including Ambassador Chris Stevens, Wednesday, Sept. 12, 2012. (AP Photo/Ibrahim Alaguri)
/ AP

What made the mortar so feared on the battlefield was its ability to rain fire down on a target, and afterward the crew could pack itself up and move toward a new position. The mortar could be fired just far enough from its destination that it couldn’t be engaged and close enough that it could decimate a target with uncanny accuracy.

The third mortar round landed approximately a hundred feet in front of the main building, which Doherty and Woods were using as their firing perch.

Seconds later, a fourth round was fired, landing squarely on the roof where Woods was firing his Mk 46. Woods was killed instantly.

Doherty rushed to reposition himself and tend to his mortally wounded friend, but then the fifth mortar round came crashing to the rooftop. The impact shook the building and sent shrapnel into a wide field of destruction. When the smoke cleared, Doherty was dead.

And then, once again, the terrorist fire ended as abruptly as it began.

The explosions of mortar fire and full-auto machine gun bursts were muted into a befuddling silence. The defenders looked around and scanned for targets. They looked at the damage. There was trepidation that more would die.

On Sept. 14, 2012, teams at Andrews Air Force Base transfer flag-draped cases containing the remains of the four Americans killed in the terrorist attack on the
U.S. diplomatic compound in Benghazi, Libya. More than 60 militants waged a two-wave assault on the consulate and a nearby annex. AP FILE

On Sept. 14, 2012, teams at Andrews Air Force Base transfer flag-draped cases containing the remains of the four Americans killed in the terrorist attack on the
U.S. diplomatic compound in Benghazi, Libya. More than 60 militants waged a two-wave assault on the consulate and a nearby annex. AP FILE